A Fine Bordeaux
by evitamockingbird
Summary: Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, and a decanter of Bordeaux.
1. A Fine Bordeaux

**I call it "suggestive fluff." Judge for yourself.**

Mr. Carson sat at his desk, closing up the wine ledger and stacking his papers neatly. "We've a fine Bordeaux tonight, Mrs. Hughes," he told her. "The family hardly drank any of it at dinner."

Mrs. Hughes stood on the other side of his desk as he tidied up. She glanced at the small table just inside the pantry door, where she could see a large decanter almost full of the red wine. "Is it any good?" she wondered, crossing the room to fetch it. "Seems odd that they would drink so little."

"It's _quite_ good, Mrs. Hughes. They drank a good deal more of the white tonight is all." He shrugged. "In any case, it's ours, if you would care to join me for a glass or two."

She smiled and brought the decanter to his desk. "Certainly, I would."

It was common for the butler and housekeeper to understand each other without speaking, but a rare miscommunication now occurred. Mr. Carson lifted one hand to indicate that she should put the decanter down on a little table between their two chairs, but Mrs. Hughes thought he was reaching out to take it from her. She let it go when she thought he had grasped the handle, but his hand was not there. It did not shatter, but fell heavily on the fingers of Mr. Carson's other hand. The decanter tipped in his direction, the stopper falling to the floor, and splashed most of the wine all over his clothing.

"Damn!" he swore, jumping to his feet and shaking his injured hand, hissing in pain.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Carson!" Mrs. Hughes righted the decanter, then hurried to his side and took his hand. "That's going to smart," she said, frowning. After just a few seconds, his fingers were starting to swell. "And no apologies for bad language, if you please. I can see it's called for."

"I'm sure it will be fine. I'll get a cold cloth before I go up."

Mrs. Hughes was doubtful. "I hope you're right." She eyed the contents of the decanter on Mr. Carson's desk. "So much for the Bordeaux. There's barely one glass left."

Mr. Carson noticed at last that his once pristine white tie and tails were now covered in the fine Bordeaux he had planned to share with Mrs. Hughes. He sighed. "I suppose I'll go up, then. I'll leave my coat down here, I think, and take it to the laundry tomorrow morning. There's no need to take _all_ of this Bordeaux up to the attic with me."

"Let me help you," she offered, circling around to stand behind him. "Just roll your shoulders back a little and let it slide off." He did as she suggested and she caught the coat as it slipped from his shoulders. She laid it over the back of his chair.

"Oh, dear," she lamented when she had gotten a good look at his stained livery. "I think we'd better get that soaking right away. If you leave it for the laundry maids to see to in the morning, it will be ruined. And I do hate to see a good shirt go to waste. Not to mention the tie and waistcoat."

"You're right," Mr. Carson agreed. "I'll put it to soak as soon as I get upstairs." He started toward the door, but Mrs. Hughes stopped him.

"You'd better let me help, Mr. Carson," she told him. "I don't think you'll be able to undo any buttons with your fingers like that."

He looked down at his injured fingers and then back to Mrs. Hughes. "What are you suggesting?" he asked, alarmed.

She approached him and started to unbutton his waistcoat, but he brushed her hands away.

"Certainly not," he told her. "I'm perfectly capable-"

"Show me," Mrs. Hughes demanded. "Show me you can undo those buttons and I'll let you go on your way."

Mr. Carson did as she commanded, but he found that she was right. His swollen fingers could not work open the tiny buttons. He was still not ready to give in, however. "I can't do it, but certainly it's not right for _you_ to-"

"Surely you've got a vest on under that shirt," Mrs. Hughes interrupted. "You'll be a little more casually dressed than I'm used to, but I shan't see you completely exposed."

"But-"

"Or do you fancy waking one of the footmen to help you out of your livery?"

"Well…"

"Come, Mr. Carson," she urged him. "We're old friends, you and I. Let me help you."

Mr. Carson frowned, but nodded reluctantly. He fixed his eyes on a picture hanging on the wall opposite him. It was an ink drawing of a little boy sitting on a riverbank, fishing. He tried to imagine that he was that boy, and that the sun was shining down on him as he sat by the sparkling water without a care in the world. However, as soon as he felt Mrs. Hughes's fingers on his waistcoat buttons, this idyllic picture flew from his mind. He felt heated from head to toe, but not by the warm sun on the riverbank. He put his arms behind his back, grasping one wrist with the other hand, just as he did when he waited at table.

Mrs. Hughes thought she must be mad. She had started on his buttons in her usual efficient manner, but, though there were only four of them, she had become quite flustered before she was halfway done. Whatever had possessed her to insist on this? She was sure her face must be flaming; it certainly felt like it. Her fingers trembled slightly and she glanced up at Mr. Carson's face, hoping he hadn't noticed. He was staring determinedly over her head, but she observed that he looked rather flushed as well, and that his breathing was a bit unsteady. This did not make things easier for Mrs. Hughes. She forced her fingers to move normally, but now she was aware of his every breath, and her own lungs betrayed her into matching Mr. Carson's irregular rhythm. At last the five buttons were undone, and she pushed the waistcoat from his shoulders. He let his arms fall to his sides, allowing it to fall to the floor, before clasping them once more behind his back.

Mrs. Hughes knew she could untie his tie in just a few seconds. Then she might quickly finish the buttons on his shirt and flee from her own foolishness. Taking a slow, deep breath, she moved her hands and her eyes up to his white bowtie, and was startled to find Mr. Carson no longer looking at the wall behind her, but down into her eyes. His dark eyes seemed to devour her and he breathed unevenly through slightly parted lips. She fumbled with the tie, her fingers taking longer than they should because her eyes were not on her work, and finally let it flutter to the floor.

Next Mrs. Hughes moved to his collar. It was trickier work than the tie, and she stepped closer to him so she could reach it. She could feel the fire emanating from his body, and various parts of her own body throbbed in response to his heat and nearness. She unfastened the collar and moved to the top button of the shirt. When her finger brushed his neck inadvertently, he shuddered and closed his eyes, though only for a moment, and his hands remained clasped tightly behind his back. Mrs. Hughes's worries that Mr. Carson might notice his effect on her evaporated as she slowly unbuttoned his shirt. All she could think about was the warmth of his chest under her hands and the pounding of his heart under her fingertips told her that she need not attempt to conceal her own arousal from him; she could detect _his_ excitement without much effort at all.

Mrs. Hughes finished unbuttoning his shirt and could not help running her palms over his chest as she pushed it from his shoulders. He let his arms fall to his sides so the shirt could drop to the floor, but it got caught on his hands. "Oh, how foolish of me," she said softly. "I should have removed your cufflinks first." She bent over one of his wrists, carefully pulling a cufflink from his shirt cuff. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck. She turned, without looking up, to do the same to the other cuff.

Mrs. Hughes stood back up to face him. Without breaking his gaze, she found his uninjured hand and placed his cufflinks in it. She couldn't help admiring the muscles of his arms and chest, the one remaining layer of thin material revealing more of him than it covered. Mrs. Hughes wondered what would happen next. She didn't want him to go. She wanted him to stay and she wanted him to touch her. "Mrs. Hughes," he remarked quietly. "If the point of your removing my livery was to soak it so it won't be ruined, it doesn't seem like a very good idea to leave it lying on the floor."

She ignored him. "Mr. Carson," she said in a low voice. "I believe there's a little Bordeaux on your vest. We'd better take that off, too."

Mr. Carson was sure she must see in his eyes how he wrestled with himself at this moment. He wanted to stay and he wanted to touch her, but he didn't think he should. Mrs. Hughes was in the same quandary, but the prospect of his leaving the pantry without laying a hand on her was unbearable to her. She had caressed him as she removed his clothing, but he had kept his hands behind his back or at his sides through the entire process.

They stared at one another for a half a minute or so before he bent his head down toward hers. She closed her eyes to receive his kiss, but it never came. "No," he whispered over her lips. She opened her eyes in surprise, almost anger, unable to suppress a small sigh of frustration. "Not _yet_," he amended, allowing a small, teasing smile to play over his lips. He stepped back from her and began to tug the vest out of the waistband of his trousers.

"You'll hurt your hand, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes asserted, pointing to a chair. "You'd better let me." Sore fingers did not prevent a man from removing his own vest, but Mr. Carson did not resist, and quickly took a seat. When her eyes met his again, she couldn't breathe, and she felt slightly lightheaded. He had never looked at her that way before, but she could read his meaning well enough. He was going to stay. He was going to touch her. They were going to make love, probably in this very room. On the desk, against the wall, on the chair, on the floor - she neither knew nor cared. She tugged his vest from the waistband of his trousers and allowed her fingers to trail behind as she pulled it over his head and down his arms. He stood, then, towering over her once more. Her scalp prickled and her stomach quivered.

"Your trousers, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes murmured shakily.

"Bordeaux?" he conjectured hoarsely.

"Yes," she sighed, her hands finding his belt and beginning to unbuckle it.

"Stop." Mr. Carson grasped her wrists gently and lifted them away from his belt. "Wait just a moment." He then let her go and Mrs. Hughes stayed where she was, watching him go to his desk and collect an empty glass and the nearly-empty decanter of Bordeaux that had started all of this madness. He poured the remaining wine in the glass, then lightly flung its contents across the room at her, soaking the front of her gown. Her eyes widened in surprise as a few drops streamed from her chest down the front of her bodice, dampening the inner layers of her clothing. Mr. Carson quickly crossed the room to stand over her again.

"Well, Mrs. Hughes, it seems you've got wine on your dress," he murmured in her ear. "Probably your corset, too."

"I suppose it will all have to come off, then," she breathed.

Mr. Carson pulled back a bit and examined her face closely. He lifted her chin very gently with one finger, then slowly bent his head down and licked a single drop of Bordeaux from her chin with the tip of his tongue. "Delicious," he declared in a low tone.

Mr. Carson's belt hit the floor with a thud as his trousers joined most of his other clothing there.

_The end._

**This one-shot resulted from a virtual conversation with chelsie fan about the virtues of Mr. Carson's white tie and tails, and how much fun Mrs. Hughes might have peeling them off. A bit OOC, for them and for me, but for some reason I couldn't refuse this particular dare.**

**Please consider leaving a review if you can spare the time.**


	2. A Forgotten Bordeaux

**More suggestive fluff.**

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes stood in the pantry facing each other, both breathing heavily. Mr. Carson stood in his undershorts, his trousers on the floor about his ankles and his shoes still on his feet. Mrs. Hughes's eyes wandered his semi-naked form, admiring everything she saw - both what was familiar (his face, his hands) and what she had never seen before (everything else). Mr. Carson examined her dress, wondering where to start. He reached out a hesitant hand toward her belt, but Mrs. Hughes backed away. When he tried to step toward her again, his foot got caught in his trousers and he pitched forward. His hand landed heavily on Mrs. Hughes's shoulder and she braced herself against his weight, but he righted himself quickly and released her. She moved her gaze from his face to his ankles, and back again, not even trying to hide her amusement at his hobbled state. He met her laughing eyes with his most dignified stare and shuffled over to a chair, where he sat to remove his shoes and trousers. His shoes he unlaced with one hand before kicking them off and quickly removing his socks as well; standing up he simply stepped out of his trousers, leaving them pooled on the floor. Unfettered, he advanced on Mrs. Hughes once more. The smile faded from her face. Mr. Carson was not even slightly flustered; he acted as though being stripped of his evening clothes by the housekeeper were the most ordinary thing in the world. Mrs. Hughes was hot and trembling; he most certainly had the upper hand. She felt mildly apprehensive, but she reminded herself what she had been longing for just a few minutes ago - that Mr. Carson would not leave the room without touching her. It seemed likely that she was about to get her wish.

He approached her and slid his finger inside the belt of her dress. "This is new," he murmured.

Mrs. Hughes nodded, unable to speak.

"It's your morning dress."

She cleared her throat. "The laundry maids didn't have my evening dress clean in time for changing."

Mr. Carson nodded slowly in understanding. "You might have to wear your evening dress tomorrow morning." His finger was still between the belt and her dress and he used it to tug her gently closer to him. Mrs. Hughes was trapped by his gaze, but she wondered vaguely how he would manage to undress her with only one hand. When she felt her belt being quickly unbuttoned and dropped to the floor, along with the keys attached to it, she was convinced he would have very little trouble. And if he did, well, she had two perfectly sound hands of her own. For now, however, she looked into his dark eyes and waited. Her equilibrium began to return; she thought she might enjoy teasing him a little, just as he had done her. Mr. Carson was still here, barely clothed, and looking as though he might devour her. Clearly he wanted something from her, but she could keep from touching him for a little while, knowing that eventually their mutual restraint would come to an end.

Mr. Carson's restraint lasted only a few more seconds before he raised a hand to her shoulder and tried to slide his fingers between her dress and its matching jacket. When the jacket didn't fall away easily, he drew even closer and found the tiny hook-and-eye closures that held the two garments together. Mrs. Hughes was impressed, but not surprised, that his large hand had managed several tiny hooks deftly. She had watched him work; she knew what delicate tasks his hands were capable of performing. Once he had unhooked the jacket on both sides, he let it slide to the floor. His mouth fell open a little at the sight of her naked shoulders. Mrs. Hughes was startled when his hand came to rest lightly on her bare skin. She took in a swift breath and closed her eyes; she could not help it. He ran his fingers very slowly from her shoulder to her wrist and back again. Then his hand moved from the top of her arm to her upper back. Mrs. Hughes thought he was about to embrace her, but he surprised her again by walking behind her, his hand never leaving her body.

"We wouldn't want the other arm to get jealous," he murmured low in her ear, now caressing her right arm as he had her left.

Mrs. Hughes shuddered. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep from reaching for him. As long as he stood behind her, it was easier, but if she faced him again her self-control might crumble. It seemed, however, that Mr. Carson meant to stay where he was for the time being. He moved his hand to the back of her neck. He fumbled a bit with the top button of her dress, but managed to undo it one-handed. He moved to the next one and when he struggled with it, Mrs. Hughes reached behind her back. "Let me help you."

Mr. Carson used his hand to cover the button she was trying to unfasten. "Are you in a _very_ great hurry, Mrs. Hughes?" She whimpered; he gave a low chuckle. "I think you _are_ in a great hurry." He moved both of her arms back to rest at her sides. "Don't worry, we'll get there, m'dear." His fingers, though nimble, were still at a disadvantage when he was unfastening buttons with only one hand and his progress was slow. After the third button, he slid his hand inside her dress for a moment. She felt the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of her shift, but he withdrew his hand almost immediately and continued unbuttoning. Mrs. Hughes stood still; all she could do was savor this delicious torture. It would not last forever. That thought put a smile on her lips.

Eventually, Mr. Carson had unbuttoned enough buttons to slide the dress down her body. He placed one palm on either side of her waist and pushed the soft fabric down past her hips until it fell to the floor and she stepped out of it. Mr. Carson circled Mrs. Hughes, stopping in front of her and studying the front of her corset thoughtfully.

"Leave this to me," Mrs. Hughes said, reaching for the busk. "I really don't think you can do this with just one ha-"

"No." His voice was firm, but not harsh. Mrs. Hughes froze. "I'm sure I couldn't do it as fast as _you_ could, but I _will_ do it." His gaze held hers in a silent and motionless battle of wills. Mrs. Hughes gave in and let her hands fall to her sides. She didn't like to let Mr. Carson win, but she was curious how he planned to proceed. Once again, she stood and waited.

He bent to examine and then labored to unfasten the top hook. It was slow work, but he managed it. The difference in their heights, however, was forcing Mr. Carson to stand in an awkward and uncomfortable position. "Stay there," he told her. He pulled a chair over to where she stood and sat down facing her. His height positioned his eyes so he had a very clear view of the hooks that he was doing his best to unfasten one-handed. At last Mr. Carson reached the bottom, and he tossed the corset away. He paused for a second or two before wrapping his arms around her hips, pulling her against him, and resting his head against her stomach. He breathed deeply through his nose, excited by her intoxicating scent. Mrs. Hughes buried her hands in his hair.

Mr. Carson was not idle for long, however. He released her and crouched down on the floor to remove her shoes. Once he had done that, he slid his hand up each leg to unhook her stockings. They were discarded haphazardly about the room before his hand moved smoothly back up one leg and removed her knickers. He stood up now and, after staring into her face for several very long moments, he bent forward and gently kissed her shoulder once, and then her neck, before standing up straight again.

"You can take this off, I think," he told her quietly, fingering the thin material of her shift.

"Surely you can manage it, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes murmured. "Look how many hooks and buttons you've undone with just one hand." She gestured toward the clothing discarded about the room.

"Yes, I could manage it," Mr. Carson agreed. "But I want to be sure you are ready."

She looked up into his eyes.

"I think you know what will happen between us once you are naked before me." His voice was a gentle rumble.

She nodded.

"I want you to take it off. And I think you want to take it off. But I'll leave that in your hands." Mr. Carson reached out and took one of her hands and kissed it. "Such lovely hands they are."

There had been a few moments while he was undressing her that Mrs. Hughes had wished that he would lose patience with his slow pace, that he would pop some buttons from her dress and tear the thin fabric that currently separated them. But now she knew that there could be nothing more arousing than what he was doing to her at this very moment. His eyes bored into hers, but he waited for her. Mrs. Hughes let the exquisite tension build for a few more seconds before she pulled the shift over her head and flung it away. Mr. Carson mouth curved into a slight smile before he leaned down and, at last,_ at long last_, covered her lips with his.

_The end or to be continued?_

**I think this one is probably even more OOC than the first, but at this point you aren't reading for characterization, are you? No, I didn't think so.**

**It won't surprise you to know that chelsie fan had something to do with this one as well. When the first picture of Mrs. Hughes's new dress turned up on Twitter, she suggested I write a second chapter in which Mr. Carson returns the favor she did him in chapter one. Later photos of Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson together revealed that this new dress was her day dress, which she would not have been wearing at night as she stripped Mr. Carson out of his white tie and tails. However, such a trivial obstacle was easily done away with, as you see.**

**Please leave a review if you can spare a few minutes. Thank you for reading!**


	3. After the Bordeaux

When Mrs. Hughes awoke hours later she felt both cozy and extremely uncomfortable. It took her a few moments to understand her precise physical position, but she knew where she was and had a clear memory of exactly what she had done. She could not say _why_ she had done it. The only alcohol involved had not actually been consumed by either of them, with the exception of that one drop of Bordeaux that Mr. Carson had licked from her chin before he stripped her naked. She must have been mad.

It was dark, but Mrs. Hughes didn't need light to know that she was still naked, as was the large, warm man she was nestled up against. Where her body touched his, she was cozy. But lying on the floor was rather uncomfortable, in spite of the blanket spread out beneath them. She shifted a bit, but it didn't help. She hoisted herself up on her elbows to test her strength and a groan escaped her lips. She was able to move normally, but she was sore in all sorts of places. Mrs. Hughes sat up and tried to decide what to do next. She had no idea what time it was, but she knew it was imperative that she and Mr. Carson get upstairs to their own rooms. Pondering her own insanity could wait until later.

Mr. Carson was stirring now; he reached for Mrs. Hughes. She did not shy away from his touch, but she did not allow him to pull her back to the floor. The temptation was there, but she felt she'd given in to temptation quite enough for one night. It was time to be practical.

"Mr. Carson, I've got to get dressed," she told him calmly.

He sat up slowly. "Now?" he mumbled.

"Yes, now. I need to get upstairs. It might be dawn soon."

"I suppose I ought to get dressed myself," Mr. Carson commented reluctantly.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Hughes scoffed. "You're going to stay right here while I fetch your pajamas and dressing gown. I'm afraid your shirt, tie, and waistcoat are probably ruined." She fumbled around in search of a lamp and when she found one she hesitated for a long moment before switching it on. In the lamplight there would be no hiding from what they had done. With a click, she flooded the room with light. All of their clothing was scattered about the room, not a stitch of it left on their bodies. Mrs. Hughes exchanged a glance with Mr. Carson before she began gathering up her clothing. She only hoped no one saw her in this dress now; it was crumpled almost beyond recognition. She dressed quickly, her face burning. She knew Mr. Carson was watching her, but she couldn't return his gaze. She picked up her stockings and stepped into her shoes.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, Mr. Carson. While I'm gone you should try to think of a way to quietly dispose of those ruined clothes." She finally met his eyes briefly before slipping out of his pantry. He was looking at her very seriously.

Mrs. Hughes made her way quietly down the corridor. She wondered if she could manage to take a bath before morning; her body was sticky with sweat and... other things.

_After she had removed her shift, he had kissed and caressed her tenderly. Certainly his tongue must have touched every inch of skin on her body. He nibbled her earlobe, he kissed her neck, he tasted her nipples. She had been surprised when his fingers found their way to that secret spot. When he kissed her there, she thought she must be going mad. It was a marvelous sort of madness, however, that led her to something too beautiful for words._

Mrs. Hughes almost groaned when she mounted the stairs. Her muscles were sore and thinking of how they had gotten that way was enough to bring a blush to her cheek again. Falling asleep on a blanket on a hard floor had done her no favors, but that was not all, nowhere near all.

_He was a careful lover, not simply taking his own pleasure, but giving her pleasure as well. It was sweet and slow, and she had never experienced anything like it. However, after they had slept for a little while, sweet kisses and gentle touches became urgent kisses and grasping hands. They came together again, his whispered encouragement emboldening her to engage with him in a play for dominance. She felt powerful, even when his weight pressed her into the blanket. He was hers._

With each step toward the attics, Mrs. Hughes felt his teeth on her shoulder, or her fingers grasping at his hair, or the thrusts they shared as she hovered over him. Yes, she was sore now and she would certainly be stiff in the morning.

She went to her own room first to change into her nightgown and dressing gown. That would make it easier to explain away her nocturnal wanderings if anyone came upon her. She couldn't sleep. She was on her way to get a drink of water. Nothing out of the ordinary. Mrs. Hughes changed into her nightgown and brushed and plaited her hair, which hung loose. Her pins were in the pantry; she would fetch them when she went back down. Their clothing had been left all over the place once they were naked together, but Mr. Carson had taken every hairpin out carefully and kept them all neatly together. Mrs. Hughes put on her dressing gown and hastened to Mr. Carson's bedroom, where she quickly found him a clean set of pajamas and took his dressing gown from the hook on the door. It occurred to her that she ought to bring him some clean undershorts as well. It took a bit of courage for her to begin looking for them, but the search was mercifully short - she found a pair almost immediately. She hurried out of his room and down the corridor, the bundle of clothing under one arm.

_The undershorts were the very last thing to go - after she was naked, her hairpins removed, and her body trembling for him. When she first saw him completely bare, she drew back, but he whispered, "trust me" and she did. It hurt at first, but not in the tearing, burning way she'd imagined. She was simply being stretched to fit him. It was a more natural thing that faded with each passing moment, and could coexist with this new pleasure she was learning._

With every stair step, her mind flashed to a different moment of their lovemaking and she blushed again and again in the dark. Mrs. Hughes shuddered to consider how she would get through breakfast in the morning.

When she opened the pantry door, Mr. Carson was sitting in his desk chair, still wearing nothing. His clothing, however, had been neatly folded and stacked in the armchair. She approached him and offered up the bundle.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." He took it from her and began to dress hurriedly. She averted her eyes.

"You're welcome," Mrs. Hughes replied. "Now I'll say good night."

"Won't you stay a little longer, Mrs. Hughes? There's something I want to talk to you about."

"If you wish," she answered. "But we can't stay here too long. We must get back to our rooms before anyone comes down."

"Of course," he agreed. "But it's just half past two. We have some time."

"Half past two?" Mrs. Hughes was surprised. "It feels later."

Mr. Carson was dressed now, but Mrs. Hughes still thought him devastatingly handsome. Her conviction that she had lost her mind did not make him any less attractive to her.

"Will you come here, please?" he asked softly, beckoning to her with an outstretched hand. Mrs. Hughes had intended to keep her distance, but at this first test her resolution failed and she went to him. She took his hand and he pulled her gently into his embrace. She wrapped her arms around him and relaxed, her ear to his chest. He rested his chin on her head. They let out simultaneous sighs.

"I think I had better marry you," Mr. Carson said quietly.

"Oh? Do you feel it's necessary?"

"I would never disrespect you by taking from you as I've done and then not making you my wife. What kind of man do you think I am?"

Mrs. Hughes drew away from him. "You're a good and honorable man," she told him without hesitation. "I'm more concerned about what kind of _woman_ you think _I_ am."

"The same kind of woman I've always thought you," Mr. Carson responded with a small smile.

"Which is?" She couldn't hide the tremor in her voice.

"You are no 'kind of woman,' really, because there is no one like you. You are good and kind and honorable. You are sharp and sweet and lovely. And I do not think any worse of you now than I did yesterday, in case that concerns you."

Mrs. Hughes paused for a moment to take it all in. _He said I'm lovely._ "So you think we should get married?"

"Yes."

"You're probably right," she remarked calmly, though her mind was anything but calm. She couldn't believe what had happened or what was now happening. A few hours ago she had done precious little thinking, but it had all seemed right. Now that she was thinking again, things seemed entirely wrong.

Mr. Carson sensed her disquiet and spoke. "Elsie."

Mrs. Hughes flinched in surprise at his use of her Christian name. It was the first time he had called her that since she was a housemaid. Even when they were making love, he hadn't called her that. Neither of them had spoken the other's name at all.

"I think I've gone about this all wrong," Mr. Carson began. "Let me start again." Her eyes questioned him and he reached for her hand and held it in his. He took a deep breath and continued. "I'm both sorry and not sorry about what happened between us last night. I'm sorry, because it was improper and disrespectful of me to give in to my urges and take you when you had not the protection of my name or even a promise of respectable marriage." Gently, he pulled her again to his chest. He spoke quickly, a long string of nervous words pouring directly from his heart. "I'm not sorry because it was even more wonderful and glorious than any of my _many_ imaginings and I love you and I want to marry you so we can be together all the time and take care of each other and make love whenever we like." He waited for her response, patiently impatient.

Mrs. Hughes pulled slightly back from his embrace to look into his eyes and nod in agreement, returning his serious expression for a few moments before her face turned a bit mischievous. She bit her lip, trying to hide an impish grin. She said nothing, but slowly untied the belt of his dressing gown. His eyebrows rose and a smile broke out across his face. He began to undress her, too. This time, as they worked to remove each other's clothing, there wasn't a long wait, or any teasing. They kissed, they caressed, they slid out of their few garments, and there were few words.

"Charles," she whispered. "Not on the floor this time, please?"

"Whatever you wish," he agreed. He lifted her to sit on his desk. "Does this suit you?"

"Yes," she replied. "Just as _you_ suit me."

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When Mrs. Hughes awoke in her bed a scant few hours later, she felt wonderful. Until she moved, that was. Just as she had predicted, her body was stiff and sore; however, there was a certain delight in her discomfort. She had a secret - a naughty, lovely secret - and those aches and twinges told her that it was real. Mrs. Hughes opened her wardrobe and sighed. Her evening dress was now clean, while the day dress she had worn all of yesterday was at the laundry. If she wore her evening dress this morning, she would end up wearing her morning dress in the evening again and things would stay out of order. She could wear her evening dress all day, but she really didn't like doing that, either. She pushed aside her newer things. She had worn that navy one almost to shreds, but there were a few even older that she might still be able to wear. She pulled out a dark gown with colored embroidery around the neck. _Goodness, I haven't worn this in years._ It was hopelessly out of fashion, but Mrs. Hughes knew that no one paid much attention to what a housekeeper wore. Fortunately, it still fit and she was dressed and out of her room before long. When she started down the stairs, the muscles in her legs provided sufficient punishment for any sins she had committed the night before and early that morning.

_She sat on the edge of his desk, naked once again. The thought flitted through her mind that this particular version of the act did not require complete nudity, only a locked door and two people who could remain silent in the throes of ecstasy. Her legs were wrapped loosely around his hips and she had one arm draped over his shoulder and one hand in his hair. As she opened herself to him again, she suddenly realized that although they had made love twice, he had told her he loved her, and she had accepted his marriage proposal, she had not made her own feelings clear. Her first whispered "I love you" coincided with his thrust and so did the second. The tension mounted. They were lovers; they loved and they made love. She whispered it again and again, in time with the rhythm he set._

_ "I love you. I love you. I love you. Iloveyou. Iloveyou! Iloveyou! IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou! I LOVE! YOU! I LOVE! YOU! I LOVE-!" She broke off, unable to speak any longer. Her legs went limp and she clasped her arms behind his neck, feathering his neck and shoulder with little kisses as she tried to catch her breath. He was murmuring sweet words of love in her ear and she smiled between kisses. She couldn't think of a time when she'd felt so happy._

Mrs. Hughes waited with the other staff for Mr. Carson to arrive at breakfast. A few people had noticed her dress. "A mix-up in the laundry," she'd told them lightly, and there was no more conversation to be had about it. When Mr. Carson arrived, he nodded to the assembled staff, met Mrs. Hughes's eyes just as he did every morning, and all were seated. Mrs. Hughes was impressed. There wasn't a hint of a blush on his cheek or any sign of embarrassment. Of course, it was much the same for her. There was no telling what might happen once they were in conversation, but she could certainly master her emotions enough to fall under his glance someplace as public as the servants' hall without blushing.

"Good morning, Mr. Carson," she said, giving him a smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hughes. That's a new dress, isn't… no, it's an _old_ dress."

"Yes, it's still quite serviceable."

"It was always one of my favorites," Mr. Carson told her, then took a bite of toast.

"Really!" Mrs. Hughes was surprised.

"Are you so shocked that I like it?" he wanted to know. "That little bit of color at the collar is very nice."

"I'm astonished you have a favorite at all, Mr. Carson," she replied.

"Hmmm," he grunted, then murmured so softly she almost didn't hear it, "I'll need help finding all the buttons on it, though."

_The end._

**I don't know if this chapter can be called "suggestive fluff," but it doesn't really matter at this point. They've had a romp (or three) in the butler's pantry and now they're going to get married. That pretty much covers it, eh?**

**Thank you for your reviews! Please leave another if you can spare a few moments.**


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